Slowly they come to life,
As oils shape their smooth profile
Unfolding features with expressions
On every colored slide
Incomplete yes, they are this day,
Cannot even see their eyes
If flaws you want to change,
you can help me see it, right?
From your angle,
I shall mark with brush,
Re-touching under new light
Together,
We shall see them breathing,
Singing poetry,
Ah! so bright!
Cannot play the subtle music as yet
Nor fill up summer cup of wine
The color strokes play to
Just touch the clothes
The day has just begun
Its divine!
Come, sit under the shade
Of the Banyan tree
Play music just for now,
Feel gentle breeze
Of love and tenderness,
sip from cup some wine.
Bright colors of love
I cannot see
under this grip of wine
Play music for me,
Loud and clear
To awaken my dizzy mind
Soon the light shall fall over me
let me greet the morning sun
fill my cup and play the music
The day has once again begun
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Japanese Tsunami
This is one of those days
When nobody is on ground
A poem gets unsaid,
The verse molds it not
The sun shines hard;
There are no whispers of shade
World moves around
But all cry of pain
Into the crowd I walk,
Looking for known face
Weighed by struggles,
All shudder behind a veil
A pink face I search
But only I can see
A bitter wounds of hurt,
Dark moments to breathe
This was the town,
Once fragrance was the key
Fumes from the kitchen
Had flavors of Sushi
Happy were the emotions
Of every child on the street
Every chat was advanced,
On the net they would tweet
Then one day
Nature stretched to yawn,
The world heard it scream
Frightened, it nudged the earth,
The waters came from sea
The fury was bound
With whorls of tsunami
Imprisoned the whole town,
All victims and families
The horizon is transfixed
With the shades of deepest grey
Gloom rules the alleys
Colors have gone to sleep
Once more
They will crawl
Then walk up on their feet
Dust off shadows of pain
And built a new city
Painted inside out
With coats of fresh dreams
Sunday, March 06, 2011
Its just pain
Haven’t seen sunshine
for thousand days,
nor seen the flower bloom
on a twine,
I know not
what late night birds hum
nor drank
a cup of wine.
You know not
about my deepest pain,
await I daily for his smile,
the day he could walk
on his own two feet
will be the day
I could breathe for a while.
What was I thinking????
I was inspired me to write these lines after reading this http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/SC-rejects-petition-for-mercy-killing-of-Aruna-Shanbaug/articleshow/7644557.cms
How painful it is for people who have to take care of the terminally ill persons, specially if they are loved ones. One person suffer but he is not alone, his own family suffers with him.
I am reminded of my friend who left her steady income of a secured career to take care of her terminally ill parents. It has been ten years now and she has forgotten to live for herself. No social life, no contact with the world, before she is free from taking care of her parents , she will need somebody else to look after her, cause I fear that she will be deep into depression.........by then
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sounds of Music in the air
At the Ekkant retreat above Warasgoan Lake in Lavasa
Before the break of dawn
I sit all alone
Surrounded by the voices of the universe
Serenity speaks to me
Behind the lonely hills
Telling me the stories of distant winds
Its power to blow over the green hills
Roughly touching the waters below
Carrying messages
Of calmness and gratitude
Birds sing, unmindful of the rhythm
Chirping away the tunes
Of an unknown song
Nature understands,
Strums the music from its pockets
Of illusion and fills the air.
Mind wanders away
With random thoughts
But the silence distracts it naught
As I close my eyes
I find myself again
In complete harmony with nature
Drinking in the solitude of calmness
That surrounds me
I can hear
just the bleating of my heart,
In and out
The breath walks
From my soul to the sky
and back again
Humming softly
Connecting me
To the power of divinity
I think I exist no more.
PS: blogged on Lavasa trip HERE
Wednesday, February 09, 2011
Celebration
Now I hear the distant drums
The dance has just begun;
The guests arrive one by one,
With patience all will be done.
There will be laughter rolling in
As celebrations dress during day,
At night when the stars twinkle
They will help my guests to find their way
The dance has just begun;
The guests arrive one by one,
With patience all will be done.
There will be laughter rolling in
As celebrations dress during day,
At night when the stars twinkle
They will help my guests to find their way
Monday, February 07, 2011
Water melon
Its summer again.
Chewing on the crunchy, soft pieces of water melon, the water squeezes out from the pulp at every bite flooding the inners of my mouth, a cool, sweet bath for my inner palate and teeth and finally biting on crunchy black seeds savoring the nutty taste..ah the bliss!!
Chewing on the crunchy, soft pieces of water melon, the water squeezes out from the pulp at every bite flooding the inners of my mouth, a cool, sweet bath for my inner palate and teeth and finally biting on crunchy black seeds savoring the nutty taste..ah the bliss!!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Jaipur Quest
Is there stampede of the verse, have the word'ly quest quietly merged, Hey poets, writers and word'ly men, how goes it at Jaipur lit-fest?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Jaipur litfest
Tourist flock to Jaipurfest, lit-writers find it such a jest, knows not hippie there is tune in a verse, treks up and down, searching for a friend
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Vacations
The vacations are there to relieve us from stress
Row down the stream to smoothen out distress
Iron out your worries, its a beautiful world
enjoy the present and write some more verse
Row down the stream to smoothen out distress
Iron out your worries, its a beautiful world
enjoy the present and write some more verse
Saturday, January 15, 2011
He Learnt to Make Paper Bags
He stares listlessly.
Slowly he wipes off the drool with his hand
His body and mind on different wave-length
Blank looks piercing through vacant air
Focused, unfocused, and then focused again
Dips his fingers into glue bowl stand
Carefully attaches the loose paper ends
Steps back, wiping his brow with a rag
Smiles, as he admires colored paper bags
One more job done, skillfully learnt
What next?
Twenty years later, he is an older man
Living in society where nobody cares
No job for him, they trust him not
Ignore his talents and lets him rot
Mother dead, father dead
Sisters, brothers, won’t share their bread
Confused he sits, plays with the glue
Makes paper-bags, then breaks and shreds
He is depressed!
Had somebody cared for him instead
Helped him see the better world
Cloaked in dignity, he too could survive
With little cash if earned with pride
Weakened physique, but could live in jest
Opportunity is what he wanted, my friend
Confidence gained, straight walk would he have
Shake hands too, with white-collared man
Alas! Reality bites!
We continue to live into this cruel world
Where one has to prove he has a clever hand
Life is a struggle, it is difficult to merge
In crowded space, there is no room to stand
Polished world seeks only perfect man
Slow and steady, behind they lag
Trained though with proper skills and airs
It is difficult to convince the world to care
Ah! Ouch!
Differently able is crippled and disabled
‘Common’ man’s curse for a ‘Special’ man
Slowly he wipes off the drool with his hand
His body and mind on different wave-length
Blank looks piercing through vacant air
Focused, unfocused, and then focused again
Dips his fingers into glue bowl stand
Carefully attaches the loose paper ends
Steps back, wiping his brow with a rag
Smiles, as he admires colored paper bags
One more job done, skillfully learnt
What next?
Twenty years later, he is an older man
Living in society where nobody cares
No job for him, they trust him not
Ignore his talents and lets him rot
Mother dead, father dead
Sisters, brothers, won’t share their bread
Confused he sits, plays with the glue
Makes paper-bags, then breaks and shreds
He is depressed!
Had somebody cared for him instead
Helped him see the better world
Cloaked in dignity, he too could survive
With little cash if earned with pride
Weakened physique, but could live in jest
Opportunity is what he wanted, my friend
Confidence gained, straight walk would he have
Shake hands too, with white-collared man
Alas! Reality bites!
We continue to live into this cruel world
Where one has to prove he has a clever hand
Life is a struggle, it is difficult to merge
In crowded space, there is no room to stand
Polished world seeks only perfect man
Slow and steady, behind they lag
Trained though with proper skills and airs
It is difficult to convince the world to care
Ah! Ouch!
Differently able is crippled and disabled
‘Common’ man’s curse for a ‘Special’ man
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Kite Flying Festival
Image source: Google
oh! oh!
Lotsa kites are flying on google page,
North India might celebrate in style,
Mumbai high-rise considers it a dangerous sport,
Unless in jest, you fly kites
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Goodbye 2010
On this final chapter of 2010, there is no end, the unfinished story flips over to the next year, tweaked a little, with more new characters, murdering the unfulfilled desires and dreams, creating enough space for protogonist to edit her phrases to weave a new world
Monday, December 27, 2010
Sunset
The sun walks away
Quietly behind the hills
Shedding off its pink trail
On the belly of the sky
Reflection on waters bid shy goodbye
As the night falls.
Once again it will back at twilight,
Newer dreams will float on fragile minds,
Some will bloom colorfully when realized
While others will sink and never materialize.
Life goes on like it always has,
With every sunset,
There is a newer sunrise.
Pretty Sparrow
A tiny plump sparrow sits closer to my feet
Fearless, shrugs her feathers, enjoying the crisp cold breeze
Unmindful of my moods that swings from hot to cold
She chirps away my blues, with her stories not yet told.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Dashing through traffic jam
On crazy Mumbai roads
With one sharp-edged mood
Santa sees the tempers glow
He tries to keep his cool
Don't want to spoil his day
But too much on Mumbai roads
Is testing his red-hooded brains
Auto-rickshaws here and there
Breaking all traffic rules
Gives him continuous jitters
As they rattle down the roads
He holds on to his goody bags
And hums softly some prayers
Hoping he will survive
Without a broken bone
Mingled roads
Jumbled roads
Oh it’s such a pain
Its no fun
Travelling is better
If he went by local train
Yeah!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Living in bliss
Photograph was taken by Jack Huber in a vacant campground in the Ouachita Mountains in Western Arkansas
and I was inspired to writeAt peace, under the bosom of leaves and trees,
so very still, you live in bliss,
until a hunter robs you of your freedom
and shreds you up for a delicious meal.
Copyright © 2010 by Pushpa Moorjani
This is my 6th win in this ongoing contest which will end on Thanks Giving Day. We write a single quatrain inspired by the photo. A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
Winning entries are posted at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm.
I won this contest as a runner-up'
The winner was Diane T who wrote a quatrain inspired by this picture
she wrote: Gentle Denizens
The verdant forest waits in hush,
its ceiling a cathedral of dappled shade,
and in the peaceful quiet
the gentle denizens graze in grace.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden
Friday, November 12, 2010
The girl with the dragon tattoo
The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes! I see her often online
Chirping away on her face-book status
Telling me what’s on her mind
Every outrageous chat she makes
While speaking out her dormant lines
There is hurricane of spiteful abuses
Clouding her freedom and her rights
Clever thoughts, untold secrets
She swirls them into the path of crime
Cynics chop her words to pieces
And subject her to cruel trials
Should she seal her choral lips
And silently watch the world pass by
Or should she make a marked difference
By changing rhythm, rhyme and the chime
The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes, she was the one I saw online
The world helplessly watched her disappear
As she faded away sans light
There is no moment for truth
Fanatics broke her sturdy pride
My entry for Big Tent Poetry Circus where we had to choose a title of one book, and use it as a line for our poem from the list of Best Sellers, and I chose THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, by Stieg Larsson
Yes! I see her often online
Chirping away on her face-book status
Telling me what’s on her mind
Every outrageous chat she makes
While speaking out her dormant lines
There is hurricane of spiteful abuses
Clouding her freedom and her rights
Clever thoughts, untold secrets
She swirls them into the path of crime
Cynics chop her words to pieces
And subject her to cruel trials
Should she seal her choral lips
And silently watch the world pass by
Or should she make a marked difference
By changing rhythm, rhyme and the chime
The girl with the dragon tattoo
Yes, she was the one I saw online
The world helplessly watched her disappear
As she faded away sans light
There is no moment for truth
Fanatics broke her sturdy pride
My entry for Big Tent Poetry Circus where we had to choose a title of one book, and use it as a line for our poem from the list of Best Sellers, and I chose THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO, by Stieg Larsson
Monday, November 08, 2010
Broken Man
Yes! You were always right
That’s what I wanted you to believe
Although I knew the truth
But were afraid to hurt you so
Saying yes was easy
What did it cost me?
My ego still intact, my spirit unflawed
The power of love was strong
Happiness would lose its charm
Had I proved you wrong
Turning pages of memories,
Under a soft light, in my mind
Refreshes those days of wrinkled frown
When I had let you win
And you were sure, you had wronged.
I should have told you the bitter truth
Guided you on a beaten path
Your health would not betray me thus
Longer I would have you by my side
Alas! I rock with a broken leg
Cross posted at November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 8, for today's prompt, on 'Write an agreement poem'.
That’s what I wanted you to believe
Although I knew the truth
But were afraid to hurt you so
Saying yes was easy
What did it cost me?
My ego still intact, my spirit unflawed
The power of love was strong
Happiness would lose its charm
Had I proved you wrong
Turning pages of memories,
Under a soft light, in my mind
Refreshes those days of wrinkled frown
When I had let you win
And you were sure, you had wronged.
I should have told you the bitter truth
Guided you on a beaten path
Your health would not betray me thus
Longer I would have you by my side
Alas! I rock with a broken leg
Cross posted at November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 8, for today's prompt, on 'Write an agreement poem'.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Wake up Baby
I touched his soft wet cheeks
Prompting him to wake up
It was time for his next feed
Just a little, he opened his eyes
Like a bored cub in a Nirvana pose
Dimpled chubby arms, stretching
High above his baldy head
His body stiffened, but for a moment
Then relaxed
He had not finished his sleep as yet.
This is my entry for the prompt at 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 2
Prompting him to wake up
It was time for his next feed
Just a little, he opened his eyes
Like a bored cub in a Nirvana pose
Dimpled chubby arms, stretching
High above his baldy head
His body stiffened, but for a moment
Then relaxed
He had not finished his sleep as yet.
This is my entry for the prompt at 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge: Day 2
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
City of dreams
This was my entry for contest #15 at Ryze forum called Wordmeister, writers and poets unite. where we post a quatrain on picture of a city
Off shores, I melt my fears of the unknown.
Winner was Diane Stephenson on her quatrain called ‘Faith’
The pinnacle of faith rises high,
Points to a cloudless sky
Where dreams are formed
And lives transformed.
© 2010 by Diane Stephenson
Runner-up: Diane Tegarden on her quatrain ‘Spires’
Spires reaching to the sky
Teaching us of man’s desire
To become more than himself
Remembrances of lives gone by.
© 2010 by Diane Tegarden
Image (c) Jack Huber
High rise goals pierce the frozen sky
To my city of dreams, I behold
With a heart of gold, strong and stiffOff shores, I melt my fears of the unknown.
Winner was Diane Stephenson on her quatrain called ‘Faith’
The pinnacle of faith rises high,
Points to a cloudless sky
Where dreams are formed
And lives transformed.
© 2010 by Diane Stephenson
Runner-up: Diane Tegarden on her quatrain ‘Spires’
Spires reaching to the sky
Teaching us of man’s desire
To become more than himself
Remembrances of lives gone by.
© 2010 by Diane Tegarden
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Limericks-Geelani-Roy
They shared the Nobel Prize, which was no fake
They had earned it good for what they spake
They walked across the LOC
To discuss more problems of birds and bees
Now Roy and Geelani swim in milky shake
Inspired to write this limerick after reading the news on TOI
They had earned it good for what they spake
They walked across the LOC
To discuss more problems of birds and bees
Now Roy and Geelani swim in milky shake
Inspired to write this limerick after reading the news on TOI
Geelani, Arundhati to be booked under sedition charge
Friday, October 22, 2010
He is Complicated
He will tell you sterner tales
to hide his softer side
then with most expensive gift,
he will surprise
to compromise his rougher
Tones
He is complicated
One moment he is singing
Then suddenly, a bad curse
He is weighing your every word
With a suspicious shaky verse
until you are bitterly
Stoned
He is complicated
You have spend all day grooming
To celebrate a memorable day
Playfully he praises you
with succulent and tangy words
Then suddenly, cornered into a tighter
Zone
He is complicated
To be or not to be
What you see do not believe
He is complicated
Inspired by Raamesh's poem : She is complicated
to hide his softer side
then with most expensive gift,
he will surprise
to compromise his rougher
Tones
He is complicated
One moment he is singing
Then suddenly, a bad curse
He is weighing your every word
With a suspicious shaky verse
until you are bitterly
Stoned
He is complicated
You have spend all day grooming
To celebrate a memorable day
Playfully he praises you
with succulent and tangy words
Then suddenly, cornered into a tighter
Zone
He is complicated
To be or not to be
What you see do not believe
He is complicated
Inspired by Raamesh's poem : She is complicated
Monday, October 18, 2010
Bored Autumn
This was my entry for contest #14 at Ryze forum called Wordmeister, writers and poets unite. where we post a quatrain on picture of a city
Bored, the Autumn undressed the lone tree
In a concrete jungle of high rise steel
For vibrant birds, it looked within the leaves, but
Barren was the city, chirping silenced on those streets
Copyright © 2010 by Pushpee
However the winner entry was by Deborah Walker
Displaced
In the dingy gray of the big city’s bustle
Stands a country boy, stripped and displaced,
Arbitrary among the structured,
Reflective of the dreams he’s chased.
Copyright © 2010 by Deborah Walker
And the runner-up was Diane Stephenson
Sombre city
Sombre city skies, swirling, sigh;
Men, monstrous monuments making--
Cruel concrete cages--call, complain, cry,
Fevered, fearful, facing failure, freedom faking.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Stephenson
In a concrete jungle of high rise steel
For vibrant birds, it looked within the leaves, but
Barren was the city, chirping silenced on those streets
Copyright © 2010 by Pushpee
However the winner entry was by Deborah Walker
Displaced
In the dingy gray of the big city’s bustle
Stands a country boy, stripped and displaced,
Arbitrary among the structured,
Reflective of the dreams he’s chased.
Copyright © 2010 by Deborah Walker
And the runner-up was Diane Stephenson
Sombre city
Sombre city skies, swirling, sigh;
Men, monstrous monuments making--
Cruel concrete cages--call, complain, cry,
Fevered, fearful, facing failure, freedom faking.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Stephenson
Monday, October 11, 2010
Lucky again –The fifth time…
Won the poetry contest again! Yay!!!
Twice monthly, a photo is posted on the Facebook forum, "Wordmeisters, Poets and Writers Unite!" Members then compose a quatrain, or 4-line poem, inspired by the photograph. Quatrains are judged on creativity, poignancy, format (if applicable) and content. A most interesting take on the photo will also score well.
In the contest no #13 this picture was posted
And my winning entry was
The Bridge
Together, you and I had walked on that bridge,
Crossing over the lakes and beaten paths beneath;
The dancing stars in the scorching noon we found,
Under the belly of sky, many such eternal joys.
Runner-up was by Ayub Bangroo
Bridge the Gap
Moving steadily on life`s highway
to bridge the gap so vast,
some have crossed and some away,
an endless run, there to last.
Winning entry can also be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
Twice monthly, a photo is posted on the Facebook forum, "Wordmeisters, Poets and Writers Unite!" Members then compose a quatrain, or 4-line poem, inspired by the photograph. Quatrains are judged on creativity, poignancy, format (if applicable) and content. A most interesting take on the photo will also score well.
In the contest no #13 this picture was posted
This photograph was taken in beautiful downtown Lincoln, Nebraska by Jack Huber.
And my winning entry was
The Bridge
Together, you and I had walked on that bridge,
Crossing over the lakes and beaten paths beneath;
The dancing stars in the scorching noon we found,
Under the belly of sky, many such eternal joys.
Runner-up was by Ayub Bangroo
Bridge the Gap
Moving steadily on life`s highway
to bridge the gap so vast,
some have crossed and some away,
an endless run, there to last.
Winning entry can also be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Creative Mind (Form-Double Etheree)
Day
Like this
When I try
To create pun
Verse Special for me
But fail because my mind
Is occupied by stray thoughts
That block my mind against real things
Random happenings of day events
Cloud my judgment by crippling me all day
I walk for fresh air up to the window
Draw curtains a bit to look outdoors
Staring still at blooming flowers
Tensions melt and leave my side
Free at last from stiff nerves
Fresh moods cloud the frowns
Happiness reigns
Once more I
Feel some
Joy
The poetic form, "etheree," uses syllable count rather than meter and is unrhymed. It is named for its creator, a poet named Etheree Taylor Armstrong.
The basic etheree form has ten lines, the first consisting of exactly one syllable, the second line of two syllables, and so on until the last line's ten syllables. An etheree can also be reversed, starting with ten syllables and ending with one.
A "double etheree" combines the two, so is twenty lines, starting with one syllable, counting up to ten. Line eleven also has ten syllables and each line thereafter reduces by one until line twenty's single syllable.
Like this
When I try
To create pun
Verse Special for me
But fail because my mind
Is occupied by stray thoughts
That block my mind against real things
Random happenings of day events
Cloud my judgment by crippling me all day
I walk for fresh air up to the window
Draw curtains a bit to look outdoors
Staring still at blooming flowers
Tensions melt and leave my side
Free at last from stiff nerves
Fresh moods cloud the frowns
Happiness reigns
Once more I
Feel some
Joy
The poetic form, "etheree," uses syllable count rather than meter and is unrhymed. It is named for its creator, a poet named Etheree Taylor Armstrong.
The basic etheree form has ten lines, the first consisting of exactly one syllable, the second line of two syllables, and so on until the last line's ten syllables. An etheree can also be reversed, starting with ten syllables and ending with one.
A "double etheree" combines the two, so is twenty lines, starting with one syllable, counting up to ten. Line eleven also has ten syllables and each line thereafter reduces by one until line twenty's single syllable.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
One Dark Stormy Night (Fiction)
It was dark and stormy night. Tejal and Salina emerged from the cinema hall after the late night show.
“Let’s wait till the rain stops”, said Salina.
Tejal looked at her watch, “Its 10:30pm, it is getting late. Hubby will be home by 11pm, listen, I have an umbrella, we both can share. If we wait longer it might get too late. We shouldn't have come for this late night show.” She said.
“Oh! Never mind; it was fun na?” said Salina as she squeezed closer to her friend under the umbrella.
The strong wind blew against their faces and it was getting difficult to hold the umbrella. They walked slowly on the side of the road. Both of them clung tightly to umbrella but were drenched from waist downwards. Luckily there were many more people returning home after a late night show.
“Only one more lane and we will reach home.” said Salina as they entered the lonely lane.
“Yeah! Not a good idea to go out on these rainy nights, the street lights have gone off too, it’s so dark. I am afraid, you know…” said Tejal
“Hahaaha! You are just being a coward.” Said Salina
Suddenly a huge, black car whizzed past them splashing the muddy water from the puddle wetting them head to toe.
“Hello, You idiot! What the hell!!” both of them shouted together.
The car screeched to a halt, reversed and stood next to them. A dark, fat man dressed in dark green cloak emerged from car.
“Get into the car.” he whispered, puffing the bad breath into their faces.
“Eeeww! Cough! Cough! Who are you? We don’t know you, why should we get into your car? Said Salina
“I said don’t argue with me, understand? Just get into the car or I shall slice you into small bitty bits.” he said extracting a shiny knife from his butt pocket.
“Take Salina with you, she is a single woman and has nobody waiting for her at home. I cannot go with you; my hubby will be home any minute now. Salina, go my dear, go with him, Who cares whether you reach home early or late? Try to understand, go” said Tejal
“Nopes! I am not going without you.” Protested Salina
“I said get into the car, both of you, or I shall kill you both” he said talking through his clenched teeth.
“But you have only one knife, and let me see if it is sharp enough to chop two women” said Salina trying to grab his hand.
“Being funny, huh?” he said, and poked her with the pointed tip just below her navel.
“Ouch! It hurts! Okay, you win. Come on Tejal, let’s go with him, maybe it's a short ride.”
As soon as they stepped into the car, there was a click of doors locking and the car picked up speed.
“He looks like our Sallu Baba na, look at his muscles.” whispered Tejal
“Yeah, maybe his cloak will tear and fly off his body if he shows some anger, like in the movie” laughed Salina.
"Uff! Oh!, his cloak is so loose, let me see if he is wearing a khadi shirt within"
"Shush, Shush!!" giggled Salina
Tejal fidgeted with the handles, turned them clockwise to lower the window pane.
“Al la loo ya! Aieya! Look Salina! Look, we are in the mid-air” screamed Tejal
“We are in the car, we are not in the airplane, silly”
“Arrey! Look! I am not joking. See that? There is water below, we are flying over the sea’”
“Hello, bhai saab, Sallu, can we call you Sallu? By the way, where are you taking us?”
“Shut up and sit quietly and let me concentrate on my driving” said the man
“But you are not driving, you are flying”
“Grrrrh! I said let me concentrate, my boss is expecting you.”
“Boss? You have a boss? Who is he?”
“You ask too many questions, why don’t you just relax and you will know it soon.” He said as he steered towards a small hill in the middle of water.
“Is this an island? Your boss lives here?” said Tejal as the car came to a halt in front of a huge castle.
“Get off the car” he roared.
Carefully they got off the car, it was still raining heavily and they were wet and cold. They walked towards the castle and knock on the huge iron door.
A bald old man in dhoti and cap, with a shawl draped over his shoulders opened the door.
“Wah! Wah! You brought two pretty young women for me today? Shahbaz putther, Welcome! Welcome” said the old man inviting them to walk in.
“Why are we brought here?” said Salina, stepping forward and resting her palms on her hips.
“Well! I am hungry, I asked him to get me one woman who will cook for me, but he has brought two women, that’s good! That’s very, very good!”
“But we will not cook for you” said Salina.
“You can just order food from Mc Donalds or from KFC. We normally order food from take-a-away outlet when we are tired and hungry and too lazy to cook” said Tejal.
“Hello! Can’t you see that this is an island and there are no restaurants here?”
“And what makes you think that we will cook for you?”
“Look ladies, you have no choice, either you cook for me or else I will chop you up and eat you raw.”
“You are not serious, are you? You can’t possibly eat a human, that too two pretty women, would you? They do something else to pretty women, we read in papers all the time and its never chopping them to eat. Nah! It's not appropriate, me thinks” said Salina
“Yes I do, when I am hungry I don’t care what I eat.”
Tejal started to shiver and held on to Salina’s hand
“Okay, we will cook for you” said Salina, “but first we need to wash ourselves, we are feeling very filthy, can we change our clothes before we cook for you?”
“Yeah, that’s like a good girl, there are fresh set of clothes in the bathroom, go wash and change while I defrost some fresh meat,”
Salina and Tejal held each other’s hands and slowly walked towards the bathroom, then turned to the other room, hastened their footsteps, walked towards the main door and started to run.
They ran faster, looked behind them and saw Shallu following them. They ran faster and faster, running on the soft grass, running towards the beach and were about to jump into the water when they both tripped and fell down on their knees.
“Ouch!”
“Mamma, what are you doing on the floor?”
“Ooooh! Phew! Just a bad dream, thank goodness!” said Tejal as she held her daughter closer to her and wept.
“Let’s wait till the rain stops”, said Salina.
Tejal looked at her watch, “Its 10:30pm, it is getting late. Hubby will be home by 11pm, listen, I have an umbrella, we both can share. If we wait longer it might get too late. We shouldn't have come for this late night show.” She said.
“Oh! Never mind; it was fun na?” said Salina as she squeezed closer to her friend under the umbrella.
The strong wind blew against their faces and it was getting difficult to hold the umbrella. They walked slowly on the side of the road. Both of them clung tightly to umbrella but were drenched from waist downwards. Luckily there were many more people returning home after a late night show.
“Only one more lane and we will reach home.” said Salina as they entered the lonely lane.
“Yeah! Not a good idea to go out on these rainy nights, the street lights have gone off too, it’s so dark. I am afraid, you know…” said Tejal
“Hahaaha! You are just being a coward.” Said Salina
Suddenly a huge, black car whizzed past them splashing the muddy water from the puddle wetting them head to toe.
“Hello, You idiot! What the hell!!” both of them shouted together.
The car screeched to a halt, reversed and stood next to them. A dark, fat man dressed in dark green cloak emerged from car.
“Get into the car.” he whispered, puffing the bad breath into their faces.
“Eeeww! Cough! Cough! Who are you? We don’t know you, why should we get into your car? Said Salina
“I said don’t argue with me, understand? Just get into the car or I shall slice you into small bitty bits.” he said extracting a shiny knife from his butt pocket.
“Take Salina with you, she is a single woman and has nobody waiting for her at home. I cannot go with you; my hubby will be home any minute now. Salina, go my dear, go with him, Who cares whether you reach home early or late? Try to understand, go” said Tejal
“Nopes! I am not going without you.” Protested Salina
“I said get into the car, both of you, or I shall kill you both” he said talking through his clenched teeth.
“But you have only one knife, and let me see if it is sharp enough to chop two women” said Salina trying to grab his hand.
“Being funny, huh?” he said, and poked her with the pointed tip just below her navel.
“Ouch! It hurts! Okay, you win. Come on Tejal, let’s go with him, maybe it's a short ride.”
As soon as they stepped into the car, there was a click of doors locking and the car picked up speed.
“He looks like our Sallu Baba na, look at his muscles.” whispered Tejal
“Yeah, maybe his cloak will tear and fly off his body if he shows some anger, like in the movie” laughed Salina.
"Uff! Oh!, his cloak is so loose, let me see if he is wearing a khadi shirt within"
"Shush, Shush!!" giggled Salina
Tejal fidgeted with the handles, turned them clockwise to lower the window pane.
“Al la loo ya! Aieya! Look Salina! Look, we are in the mid-air” screamed Tejal
“We are in the car, we are not in the airplane, silly”
“Arrey! Look! I am not joking. See that? There is water below, we are flying over the sea’”
“Hello, bhai saab, Sallu, can we call you Sallu? By the way, where are you taking us?”
“Shut up and sit quietly and let me concentrate on my driving” said the man
“But you are not driving, you are flying”
“Grrrrh! I said let me concentrate, my boss is expecting you.”
“Boss? You have a boss? Who is he?”
“You ask too many questions, why don’t you just relax and you will know it soon.” He said as he steered towards a small hill in the middle of water.
“Is this an island? Your boss lives here?” said Tejal as the car came to a halt in front of a huge castle.
“Get off the car” he roared.
Carefully they got off the car, it was still raining heavily and they were wet and cold. They walked towards the castle and knock on the huge iron door.
A bald old man in dhoti and cap, with a shawl draped over his shoulders opened the door.
“Wah! Wah! You brought two pretty young women for me today? Shahbaz putther, Welcome! Welcome” said the old man inviting them to walk in.
“Why are we brought here?” said Salina, stepping forward and resting her palms on her hips.
“Well! I am hungry, I asked him to get me one woman who will cook for me, but he has brought two women, that’s good! That’s very, very good!”
“But we will not cook for you” said Salina.
“You can just order food from Mc Donalds or from KFC. We normally order food from take-a-away outlet when we are tired and hungry and too lazy to cook” said Tejal.
“Hello! Can’t you see that this is an island and there are no restaurants here?”
“And what makes you think that we will cook for you?”
“Look ladies, you have no choice, either you cook for me or else I will chop you up and eat you raw.”
“You are not serious, are you? You can’t possibly eat a human, that too two pretty women, would you? They do something else to pretty women, we read in papers all the time and its never chopping them to eat. Nah! It's not appropriate, me thinks” said Salina
“Yes I do, when I am hungry I don’t care what I eat.”
Tejal started to shiver and held on to Salina’s hand
“Okay, we will cook for you” said Salina, “but first we need to wash ourselves, we are feeling very filthy, can we change our clothes before we cook for you?”
“Yeah, that’s like a good girl, there are fresh set of clothes in the bathroom, go wash and change while I defrost some fresh meat,”
Salina and Tejal held each other’s hands and slowly walked towards the bathroom, then turned to the other room, hastened their footsteps, walked towards the main door and started to run.
They ran faster, looked behind them and saw Shallu following them. They ran faster and faster, running on the soft grass, running towards the beach and were about to jump into the water when they both tripped and fell down on their knees.
“Ouch!”
“Mamma, what are you doing on the floor?”
“Ooooh! Phew! Just a bad dream, thank goodness!” said Tejal as she held her daughter closer to her and wept.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Greener Tones
Heart knows not the limitless boundaries
It spreads carelessly over the greener tones;
Its fragrance, extending to the distant homes,
Searches coyly for lovers’ zones.
At the group called Wordmeisters, Poets and Writer-Unite on Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thanks giving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
Mine was the runner-up entry, but the winner was A Picture Post Card
For your eyes, blue sky, green lawn
set for a colourful, breaking dawn;
water front, weather tower, cluster of cottages
all seem tied up as helpless hostages!
Copyright © 2010 by Manohar Bhatia
My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
Heart knows not the limitless boundaries
It spreads carelessly over the greener tones;
Its fragrance, extending to the distant homes,
Searches coyly for lovers’ zones.
This photograph was taken in rural Nebraska near Lincoln by Jack Huber.
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
Mine was the runner-up entry, but the winner was A Picture Post Card
For your eyes, blue sky, green lawn
set for a colourful, breaking dawn;
water front, weather tower, cluster of cottages
all seem tied up as helpless hostages!
Copyright © 2010 by Manohar Bhatia
My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
Monday, September 13, 2010
September is 'Be Kind to Writers and Poets' month
You people are nice
and very kind, I must say
forgive me if I don't
come to read your post each day
but whenever I visit and
read this forum's page
I go back with the sweet words
of encouragement each day
lets not confuse kindness
with weakness this way
just an invisible smile
I am sending virtually across this day
See it!
Don't miss it!
Look!
It’s coming your way
Hope you remember me
in your prayers just for today
remember
I am your friend in every topsy-turvy way!!
Most of the forums at Ryze I enjoy to read, specially because they have a personal touch to it and the most favorite for me is at 'Wordmeister, Writer and Poets Unite' and they told me today that September is ‘Be kind to writers and poets month’ and September 12th being the National day of Encouragement, I wrote this to my friends on that forum
and very kind, I must say
forgive me if I don't
come to read your post each day
but whenever I visit and
read this forum's page
I go back with the sweet words
of encouragement each day
lets not confuse kindness
with weakness this way
just an invisible smile
I am sending virtually across this day
See it!
Don't miss it!
Look!
It’s coming your way
Hope you remember me
in your prayers just for today
remember
I am your friend in every topsy-turvy way!!
Most of the forums at Ryze I enjoy to read, specially because they have a personal touch to it and the most favorite for me is at 'Wordmeister, Writer and Poets Unite' and they told me today that September is ‘Be kind to writers and poets month’ and September 12th being the National day of Encouragement, I wrote this to my friends on that forum
Thursday, September 09, 2010
City Blues - (Form - Sestina)
When she moved into my house she looked quite stupid
The way she walked, her head she always scratched
She would spend her time watching TV all day,
At night she would go club hopping in the big city
I had let her use my vacant cold attic
For which she paid me a handsome rent
Then one day she complained about the rent
Said it was much too high and stupid
To pay for a hole which was just an attic
She was disturbed by a cat who playfully scratched
On her window panes that overlooked the city
She had grabbed the cat and scared him one day
She argued with me and left in anger that day
Without paying out her six-month-overdue rent,
Went searching for accommodation in a new city
Unsuccessful, she checked into a hotel, how stupid!
Where mattresses were worn out, furniture all scratched
Soon she realized she was more comfortable in the attic
How does one compare a hotel room to an attic?
These thoughts niggled and troubled her mind all day
When suddenly she found a card and vigorously scratched
Hurrah! Figures that flashed were enough to pay the rent
But the lottery was fake and she felt so stupid
Once again she was homeless in the big strange city
It’s a lesson you learn when you live in a city
All flats have rooms that are smaller than an attic
Those who move out and migrate to new towns are stupid
When was it easy to find a good home in one day
That would be quite spacious and yet have lower rent
You may only find a house with walls fully scratched
Wasted much time, her budget was scratched
Life was getting difficult, she felt lost in the city
Returned back to my house and paid up the rent
Moved into the same ole vacant cold attic
I heard her make a promise to herself that day
Never would she complain about anything that was so stupid
I am happy with the rent, but her ego is scratched
She feels like a stupid soul lost in the city
Hiding in the attic on this warm summer day
This is my first attempt on F.O.R.M Sestina
The way she walked, her head she always scratched
She would spend her time watching TV all day,
At night she would go club hopping in the big city
I had let her use my vacant cold attic
For which she paid me a handsome rent
Then one day she complained about the rent
Said it was much too high and stupid
To pay for a hole which was just an attic
She was disturbed by a cat who playfully scratched
On her window panes that overlooked the city
She had grabbed the cat and scared him one day
She argued with me and left in anger that day
Without paying out her six-month-overdue rent,
Went searching for accommodation in a new city
Unsuccessful, she checked into a hotel, how stupid!
Where mattresses were worn out, furniture all scratched
Soon she realized she was more comfortable in the attic
How does one compare a hotel room to an attic?
These thoughts niggled and troubled her mind all day
When suddenly she found a card and vigorously scratched
Hurrah! Figures that flashed were enough to pay the rent
But the lottery was fake and she felt so stupid
Once again she was homeless in the big strange city
It’s a lesson you learn when you live in a city
All flats have rooms that are smaller than an attic
Those who move out and migrate to new towns are stupid
When was it easy to find a good home in one day
That would be quite spacious and yet have lower rent
You may only find a house with walls fully scratched
Wasted much time, her budget was scratched
Life was getting difficult, she felt lost in the city
Returned back to my house and paid up the rent
Moved into the same ole vacant cold attic
I heard her make a promise to herself that day
Never would she complain about anything that was so stupid
I am happy with the rent, but her ego is scratched
She feels like a stupid soul lost in the city
Hiding in the attic on this warm summer day
This is my first attempt on F.O.R.M Sestina
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Aero Car
The Aero Car
The green hills welcomes the giant aero car
That swings like a cradle on a tight roped strings
“Ole! Ole!” whistles the sky, trees and the breeze
While the happy blue sea gurgles out its frothy squeals
There was a contest on writing quatrain verse by looking at the picture and this was my feeble attempt on the picture, although the winner was
Ayub Bangroo’s ‘We and Desires’
Desires keep us hanging around
no matter how deep the fall
sun, sky and soothing sound
let us not ignore the call.
Copyright © 2010 by Ayub Bangroo
Runner-up: Diane Tegarden's Getting from Here to There
Hanging above swift rapids
the daredevils whoop with joy
the poets envision dangerous delights
and the common man simply sees it as another crossing.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden
The green hills welcomes the giant aero car
That swings like a cradle on a tight roped strings
“Ole! Ole!” whistles the sky, trees and the breeze
While the happy blue sea gurgles out its frothy squeals
There was a contest on writing quatrain verse by looking at the picture and this was my feeble attempt on the picture, although the winner was
Ayub Bangroo’s ‘We and Desires’
Desires keep us hanging around
no matter how deep the fall
sun, sky and soothing sound
let us not ignore the call.
Copyright © 2010 by Ayub Bangroo
Runner-up: Diane Tegarden's Getting from Here to There
Hanging above swift rapids
the daredevils whoop with joy
the poets envision dangerous delights
and the common man simply sees it as another crossing.
Copyright © 2010 by Diane Tegarden
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Your Non-Sensical Talks
The strict rules were made for you, not for me
Don’t bother showing me some sense in them, you see
Your sermons I flung them out of my window
They stank of old fashioned conservative ideas
Lets hope they don’t germinate like those that
Grew in Jack and Bean stalk tree
Imagine, if they did, the whole world would indulge
In senseless, useless talks
and you would be sorry for their misdeeds
This is written for Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight
• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.
• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).
Links at http://zigzackly.blogspot.com/2010/08/grandson-of-godawful-poetry-fortnight.html%20, the event host.
Don’t bother showing me some sense in them, you see
Your sermons I flung them out of my window
They stank of old fashioned conservative ideas
Lets hope they don’t germinate like those that
Grew in Jack and Bean stalk tree
Imagine, if they did, the whole world would indulge
In senseless, useless talks
and you would be sorry for their misdeeds
This is written for Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight
• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.
• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).
Links at http://zigzackly.blogspot.com/2010/08/grandson-of-godawful-poetry-fortnight.html%20, the event host.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Queer August 2010
Grandson of Godawful Poetry Forthnight
August is bit queer-est month this year
Three days somersaulting five times, oh dear!
Five Sundays, five Mondays, five Tuesdays rolling
In one month occurring, was never so clear
Never heard that in last 823 years
August is bit queer-est month this year
Three days somersaulting five times, oh dear!
Five Sundays, five Mondays, five Tuesdays rolling
In one month occurring, was never so clear
Never heard that in last 823 years
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight - Common Wealth Games
Common Wealth Games
What good are these games if you don’t even dare
To make some money and with Janta to share?
What Joy to make fake certificates to stiffen some collars
With easy transfer of two billion dollars
What joy to travel in huge, fancy cars
Specially imported from London without any scars
What joy to clean the fair skinned bottom
With soft dainty paper during fifteen days short term
What joy to work without any legal contract
and see every expat on a seat that is cracked
Thank you for the beggars that you have sent to my town
At every signal in Mumbai, all are dressed in evening gown.

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.
• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).
What good are these games if you don’t even dare
To make some money and with Janta to share?
What Joy to make fake certificates to stiffen some collars
With easy transfer of two billion dollars
What joy to travel in huge, fancy cars
Specially imported from London without any scars
What joy to clean the fair skinned bottom
With soft dainty paper during fifteen days short term
What joy to work without any legal contract
and see every expat on a seat that is cracked
Thank you for the beggars that you have sent to my town
At every signal in Mumbai, all are dressed in evening gown.

• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.
• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honor for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquility, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).
Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight ----Lucky lips
Grandson of Godawful Poetry Fortnight ----Lucky lips
If it works for you, it should work for me
Can do anything, only if there is money
Money, money, money, I adore tips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
Love only if you have not been hurt before
Dance only when somebody you find to adore
Live like a king, if you are female then slips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
May you have lots of maids to work for you
May all your rich friends stand close by you
With thousands in your purse, everything clicks
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
Sun shines brightly only behind my panes
Rainbow sometimes peeps after heavy rains
When I am bored, on the net I tweets
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.
• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honour for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquillity, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).
If it works for you, it should work for me
Can do anything, only if there is money
Money, money, money, I adore tips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
Love only if you have not been hurt before
Dance only when somebody you find to adore
Live like a king, if you are female then slips
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
May you have lots of maids to work for you
May all your rich friends stand close by you
With thousands in your purse, everything clicks
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
Sun shines brightly only behind my panes
Rainbow sometimes peeps after heavy rains
When I am bored, on the net I tweets
Look I have painted red my lucky lips
• Godawful Poetry Fortnight runs from the 19th to the 31st August.
• Our Patron Saint is William Wordsworth.
And he gets this signal honour for saying that poetry "is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings." Way too many aspiring poets have rallied behind that banner, too few going so far as recollecting those emotions in tranquillity, let alone reading the rest of the preface to Lyrical Ballads (which can be found on Bartleby, for those interested).
Friday, August 20, 2010
Rigid rules govern our life
Rules tie me down with strict chains of discipline
“Can do this”
“Cannot do that”
“What will people say”
“Behave yourself”
Endless sermons from tight lipped men
There are thoughts in process brewing in my brain
Raw unfulfilled desires flushed down the drain
You judge me at every speech and even when I am quiet
Truth unguarded, pretense is your pride
Unless
I am born different, then you sympathize
You are ready to adjust
For you cannot decide
All your rules bend
There is freedom for me
I will sit on the floor
While you stretch over to teach
You forget all your rules
You will adjust and say
“Be yourself!”
“It’s all right”
All that because
I am a special child
You enter my world and understand my unique kingdom
Wait a minute..I speak thus under my Frames of Freedom
“Can do this”
“Cannot do that”
“What will people say”
“Behave yourself”
Endless sermons from tight lipped men
There are thoughts in process brewing in my brain
Raw unfulfilled desires flushed down the drain
You judge me at every speech and even when I am quiet
Truth unguarded, pretense is your pride
Unless
I am born different, then you sympathize
You are ready to adjust
For you cannot decide
All your rules bend
There is freedom for me
I will sit on the floor
While you stretch over to teach
You forget all your rules
You will adjust and say
“Be yourself!”
“It’s all right”
All that because
I am a special child
I have freedom to sit wherever I please
at my strange posture you are never displeased
You give me freedom to play with toys of my choice
I don't hear you whimper, You have a sweet voice
You allow me the freedom to choose my own best friend
Unknown to you are the vague society trends
You enter my world and understand my unique kingdom
Wait a minute..I speak thus under my Frames of Freedom
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Rains - (Form- Tanka)
Cooped into dark room
Afraid to walk on wet streets
One more day I rest
Rains slide playfully outside
Weaving slippery green grounds
(c) pushpee
Learnt about this form ‘Tanka’ from my friend Jack Huber
Originating in ancient Japan, a tanka (ton’- kah;) consisted of a haiku sent by mail or messenger and a two-line reply added to it for the returned message. Now tankas are composed in their final, familiar five-line format.
You may recall that haiku does not rhyme and consists of 17 syllables in three lines in a 5–7–5 format (five syllables in line one, seven in line two, then five again). A tanka adds two unrhymed lines of seven syllables each, for a total of 31 syllables. It can be in the 5-7-5-7-7 or in the two-stanza 5-7-5 ... 7-7 format.
Since they are short, titles of tankas may be taken from the poem’s first line or a key line, or are simply numbered, though naming poems is completely up to the author without specific rules.
Afraid to walk on wet streets
One more day I rest
Rains slide playfully outside
Weaving slippery green grounds
(c) pushpee
Learnt about this form ‘Tanka’ from my friend Jack Huber
Originating in ancient Japan, a tanka (ton’- kah;) consisted of a haiku sent by mail or messenger and a two-line reply added to it for the returned message. Now tankas are composed in their final, familiar five-line format.
You may recall that haiku does not rhyme and consists of 17 syllables in three lines in a 5–7–5 format (five syllables in line one, seven in line two, then five again). A tanka adds two unrhymed lines of seven syllables each, for a total of 31 syllables. It can be in the 5-7-5-7-7 or in the two-stanza 5-7-5 ... 7-7 format.
Since they are short, titles of tankas may be taken from the poem’s first line or a key line, or are simply numbered, though naming poems is completely up to the author without specific rules.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Yay!!! I won the poetry contest again - the third time
On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thanksgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
The first poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness
The second poem was Come Back Soon
This is the third poem which made it to final list.
Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.
Hushed voices trapped behind colored frames
Crisscrossed, the thoughts rotate from side to side
Silence speaks under the pillars of courage
Whispering gently under its beams with joy
My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
And the Runner-up: Anthea Burson
The Church of Adolescence
The sun shines through stained glass windows
At The Church of Adolescence
Exposing whispering children
Racing marbles down steel rails.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthea Burson
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
The first poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness
The second poem was Come Back Soon
This is the third poem which made it to final list.
Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.
(c) Jack Huber. This picture was taken in Kansas City
Hushed voices trapped behind colored frames
Crisscrossed, the thoughts rotate from side to side
Silence speaks under the pillars of courage
Whispering gently under its beams with joy
My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
And the Runner-up: Anthea Burson
The Church of Adolescence
The sun shines through stained glass windows
At The Church of Adolescence
Exposing whispering children
Racing marbles down steel rails.
Copyright © 2010 by Anthea Burson
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Street Smart (55-ers)
She sat in the hot sun selling friendship bands. Hundreds of plastic alphabets spread before her. She knew that one could make words by stringing them together. I picked up letters to spell my name, she correctly calculated the total cost. While rich kids learnt their mathematics at school she learnt them all on streets.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Goodbye
This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 13; the thirteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Just one pair of slippers, one set of robes
One picture of me with a smile adorned
A wee bit of cash, suffice for last rites
Await I in queue, at heavenly gates, outside
Time moves closer, the deeds must be right,
Finishing off my chores, keeping aches aside
Chains cannot break without a fight
Packing all your love, leaving hatred behind
Free from attachment, will hop to another world
Shall leave this strange world for another light
Final journey may end with a brisk good bye
Each moment now, a bonus day and night
Mourn not my death, it is but a waste
For I may never visit your obituary page
You may too wait behind, just don’t cut my line
There are no shortcuts, we all go when ripe.
But till we meet again in heaven or in hell
You may touch me a moment
Before a brief good bye
What’s on my mind:
Death is a reality, we should all be ready to go anytime. If we learn to live each day of our life as an extra bonus day, we learn to appreciate life. That is why it is important to keep our selves happy at all times because we live only once and every moment should be cherished.
Why do we feel so sad when the thought of going away from this world comes to our mind? Why are we afraid of death?
It is true that whenever we are in pain we want to end this pain. We want to be released from this pain journey, we lose our endurance and our tolerance. But when we see our near and dear ones, we change our minds. We don’t wish to go. We are terribly attached to this world. Attached not only to people but also to our things, to our materialistic possession even though we clearly know that we will take nothing with us, We don't need anything, but enough to last for one journey from this world to the next, only one pair of clothes to cover us and little money to bury us but still, we spend all our lives chasing the gold.
The main goal of our life is to find happiness and spread it. With happiness, we can add humor to our lives. That humor is the spirit that keeps us going. Those who don’t have sense of humor spend their life in self pity, becoming more and more miserable and in depression; all that one can think is the final goodbye….
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
What use is the poetry?
Of what use is the poetry
if it doesn’t stir the soul
The disturbing thoughts,
peeled off layer by layer
Find newer meanings
at its core
if it doesn’t stir the soul
The disturbing thoughts,
peeled off layer by layer
Find newer meanings
at its core
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Random thoughts - Nature
If the Earth moved just to yawn a bit, utterly bored of human carelessness, we would get to see the nature's wrath.
Image source: google
Monday, August 02, 2010
Cannon
This fortnight Jack Huber posted this picture on the forum for us to write a poem.The photo from the Quatrain City Contest this week was taken at a restored fort in the Domincan Replublic
I wrote a poem inspired by this picture
Exiled here and incredibly bored
Two canons stand silent, “Shoot!” I was told
There is no danger in sight, the sea calm and quiet
Sweet fragrance beckons, I feel swept towards home.
The winners of this round was: Khurshid Alam
Rescue Against Fire
In the vast blue umbrella, two holes of
fire poke threatening me to warm ‘gainst
the cold water. Luckily a shelter
I have at the other end of the hill.
and the Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Silent Cannons
Calm seas and blue skies
leave no memory of the ravages of war,
but silent cannons wait patiently
attesting to man's readiness to defend against invasion.
Exiled here and incredibly bored
Two canons stand silent, “Shoot!” I was told
There is no danger in sight, the sea calm and quiet
Sweet fragrance beckons, I feel swept towards home.
The winners of this round was: Khurshid Alam
Rescue Against Fire
In the vast blue umbrella, two holes of
fire poke threatening me to warm ‘gainst
the cold water. Luckily a shelter
I have at the other end of the hill.
and the Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Silent Cannons
Calm seas and blue skies
leave no memory of the ravages of war,
but silent cannons wait patiently
attesting to man's readiness to defend against invasion.
Sunday, August 01, 2010
An ode to my friends
Colors of friendship vivid and alive
Sparkle and shine with hues so bright
Lucky is soul who is blessed with a friend
True and loyal who will cling till the end
Through trough and crest and hardship of life, no
Matter what holds, true friendship has a smile
To sail in love through a long tiring day
In silence we hear what they meant to say
Like jigsaw puzzle they fit into slot
With one piece missing, feel completely lost
If a friend I find of such hues and shades,
Will pull down a rainbow and carve out their name
(c) Pushpee
Sparkle and shine with hues so bright
Lucky is soul who is blessed with a friend
True and loyal who will cling till the end
Through trough and crest and hardship of life, no
Matter what holds, true friendship has a smile
To sail in love through a long tiring day
In silence we hear what they meant to say
Like jigsaw puzzle they fit into slot
With one piece missing, feel completely lost
If a friend I find of such hues and shades,
Will pull down a rainbow and carve out their name
(c) Pushpee
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Come Back to Me (Form - Trilinea)
Come back to me
Your Memories
turn around to haunt me again
Rose, I miss you!
Thanks to Jack Huber for his tip on Trilinea.
Your Memories
turn around to haunt me again
Rose, I miss you!
Thanks to Jack Huber for his tip on Trilinea.
Similar to haiku, the trilinea is three unrhymed lines, leading me to believe that haiku was its basis. Its syllable count is slightly different at 4-8-4, for a total of sixteen. One large caveat: the word "rose" must be placed within the poem.Other than that, I can find no other requirements, so theme and title are at the poet's discretion, though including "rose" may dictate the subject somewhat. I have seen the word used as a color, a flower, an action and even a name, as well as the plural form, so evidently one can be creative with this rule.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Social Network (Form - Puente)
Ryze, Facebook, Twitter and other endless networks
Leave little time for my important monthly health checks
It’s when BP shoots high and eyes can’t focus on ground
The limbs seriously weak, my appetite is not sound
~I know I must sit down to relax~
Tired of walking for miles in search of butter and bread
I wish I could get a phone call from my closest friend
Who cooks delicious meals but nowadays doesn’t speak
I am practising to apologize without a flattery chat.
I am grateful to Jack Huber from whom I have learnt this form, called "Puente" means "bridge" in Spanish, and the so-named poetic form is built around one. This intriguing form was invented by poet James Rasmusson and described by ShadowPoetry.com.
Constructed in three stanzas, the first and third are separate thoughts, conditions or elements, but share an equal number of lines and the center "bridge" stanza. This middle stanza is but one line and is enclosed in tildes (~) to distinguish itself as both the last line of the first stanza and the first line of the last stanza.
The meter and rhyming are at the poet's discretion, free verse being perfectly acceptable. The title is has no guidelines; it need not match the bridge stanza like the example below.
Leave little time for my important monthly health checks
It’s when BP shoots high and eyes can’t focus on ground
The limbs seriously weak, my appetite is not sound
~I know I must sit down to relax~
Tired of walking for miles in search of butter and bread
I wish I could get a phone call from my closest friend
Who cooks delicious meals but nowadays doesn’t speak
I am practising to apologize without a flattery chat.
I am grateful to Jack Huber from whom I have learnt this form, called "Puente" means "bridge" in Spanish, and the so-named poetic form is built around one. This intriguing form was invented by poet James Rasmusson and described by ShadowPoetry.com.
Constructed in three stanzas, the first and third are separate thoughts, conditions or elements, but share an equal number of lines and the center "bridge" stanza. This middle stanza is but one line and is enclosed in tildes (~) to distinguish itself as both the last line of the first stanza and the first line of the last stanza.
The meter and rhyming are at the poet's discretion, free verse being perfectly acceptable. The title is has no guidelines; it need not match the bridge stanza like the example below.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Random Thoughts - Happiness
The purpose in our life is to be happy.
Happiness comes with success.
Successful are those who reach their goals
But the problem is that our goals are confusing..
That invites unhappiness..
That happily walks into our life...
Destroying the very purpose of our life.
Happiness comes with success.
Successful are those who reach their goals
But the problem is that our goals are confusing..
That invites unhappiness..
That happily walks into our life...
Destroying the very purpose of our life.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Pulpo Paul - The Super star
Today early morning, Pulpo Paul walked through my door
Splash! Splash! The water dripped out from his eighty pores'
Green were the slimy creatures sliding behind him
Holding the eight flags that had made the world believe
That he was greater star much bigger than Tendulkar Sachin
Who often consulted a parrot before playing world cricket
Wiping his brow, Pulpo silently slid into my kitchen bucket
Started a primer of one month old football magic

Paul the Oracle Octopus is clearly the biggest winner of the World Cup after recording a perfect prognostication record whether he knows it or not (he probably doesn't).
He performed eight picks, eight correct, eight tentacles and even predicted Spain as the winner of FIFA....and I was smitten by his prediction...know what I mean???
In India Cricket is the craze....hence the reference..parrot is the one to whom ppl go for horoscope sometimes....
this is the fun poem...which has the essense of color, animal, star and emotions...
Hope u enjoyed it..
Splash! Splash! The water dripped out from his eighty pores'
Green were the slimy creatures sliding behind him
Holding the eight flags that had made the world believe
That he was greater star much bigger than Tendulkar Sachin
Who often consulted a parrot before playing world cricket
Wiping his brow, Pulpo silently slid into my kitchen bucket
Started a primer of one month old football magic

For those who don't know what I am talking about.'Paul Pulpo' is the spanish word for 'Paul the octopus'.....
Paul the Oracle Octopus is clearly the biggest winner of the World Cup after recording a perfect prognostication record whether he knows it or not (he probably doesn't).
He performed eight picks, eight correct, eight tentacles and even predicted Spain as the winner of FIFA....and I was smitten by his prediction...know what I mean???
In India Cricket is the craze....hence the reference..parrot is the one to whom ppl go for horoscope sometimes....
this is the fun poem...which has the essense of color, animal, star and emotions...
Hope u enjoyed it..
Monday, July 12, 2010
Yay! I won the 'Poetry Contest' the second time.....
On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thankgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
The poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness
This is the second poem which made it to final list. Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.
Come Back Soon
Since nineteen eleven, behind mosaic so bright
Await I, with bouquet of fruits and flowers by my side
Come back soon while the flame still burns hot
Love in abundance craves for its first speck of light
(c) Pushpee
My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
Soooooo happy..heheee!!!
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme.
The poem that I had won earlier was Frozen to Stillness
This is the second poem which made it to final list. Below are the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it below the picture.
Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber
The photo was taken at the Sonnenberg Mansion and Gardens in Central New York State.
Come Back Soon
Since nineteen eleven, behind mosaic so bright
Await I, with bouquet of fruits and flowers by my side
Come back soon while the flame still burns hot
Love in abundance craves for its first speck of light
(c) Pushpee
My winning entry can be found at http://www.jackhuber.com/quatraincity.htm
Soooooo happy..heheee!!!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Best friends are E-Pals if we let them be that....
Sometimes we get too close to our online friends that we don't want the magic to fade away.....
Online, we bare our soul, expressing our real feelings, taking for granted that we may never meet them personally.
We are ourselves with no pretence what-so-ever, not afraid of being rejected for our physical short comings.
Too short, too tall, ugly scars, scanty hair, too poor, low profile, too fat, stammering, limping, abusive family, bad habits, the list is endless and everybody has something missing, but all this is forgotten online because only words matter. Words are the only connection that we have and that is what builts up our relationships.
So, what if one day, our friend decides to meet us offline...??
The fear is profound...fear of losing our best friend. Fear of not finding any words to cement the friendship, of not going forwards beyond few words. It is true that if the friendship is deep and genuine, our friend may overlook our shortcoming but then one never knows....
I was inspired to write this poem, (and had posted it earlier on my blog some two years ago and now posting again after editiing it) It not necessary reflects my feelings alone...it can be written by anybody who has low self confidence.....and sometimes I am guilty too
I would love to meet you
But I am afraid
Of your rejection
Or your stares
Or your surprises
You might discover
When you see me
That
I do not qualify the
Image in your mind
It is not my fault
If you drew the picture of me
In your soul
Reading my thoughts
My opinions
My words
From your virtual sight
I never said
I am pretty
Rich
Influential
Nor did I ever
Discuss my age
You adored my rambling
My wit
My style
Imagining a God
With feminine delight
Darn! Why must I care
About your desires
Of seeing the skeleton of me
I truly cannot match
The fabric
Nor colours
Nor nirvana
Of your wayward mind
I want to be away from
Your binary wildest dreams
You sit at your own desk
And I will, at mine
We can still drink coffee
And chat online
We can carve out poetry
From my lines
But let me be me
My true bare soul
I cannot meet you,
This evening
Offline
Although, after reading this poem, what we feared will happen....
The friendship might fade away......Honesty is a bitter wine.
Online, we bare our soul, expressing our real feelings, taking for granted that we may never meet them personally.
We are ourselves with no pretence what-so-ever, not afraid of being rejected for our physical short comings.
Too short, too tall, ugly scars, scanty hair, too poor, low profile, too fat, stammering, limping, abusive family, bad habits, the list is endless and everybody has something missing, but all this is forgotten online because only words matter. Words are the only connection that we have and that is what builts up our relationships.
So, what if one day, our friend decides to meet us offline...??
The fear is profound...fear of losing our best friend. Fear of not finding any words to cement the friendship, of not going forwards beyond few words. It is true that if the friendship is deep and genuine, our friend may overlook our shortcoming but then one never knows....
I was inspired to write this poem, (and had posted it earlier on my blog some two years ago and now posting again after editiing it) It not necessary reflects my feelings alone...it can be written by anybody who has low self confidence.....and sometimes I am guilty too
I would love to meet you
But I am afraid
Of your rejection
Or your stares
Or your surprises
You might discover
When you see me
That
I do not qualify the
Image in your mind
It is not my fault
If you drew the picture of me
In your soul
Reading my thoughts
My opinions
My words
From your virtual sight
I never said
I am pretty
Rich
Influential
Nor did I ever
Discuss my age
You adored my rambling
My wit
My style
Imagining a God
With feminine delight
Darn! Why must I care
About your desires
Of seeing the skeleton of me
I truly cannot match
The fabric
Nor colours
Nor nirvana
Of your wayward mind
I want to be away from
Your binary wildest dreams
You sit at your own desk
And I will, at mine
We can still drink coffee
And chat online
We can carve out poetry
From my lines
But let me be me
My true bare soul
I cannot meet you,
This evening
Offline
Although, after reading this poem, what we feared will happen....
The friendship might fade away......Honesty is a bitter wine.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Pain is back again
Pain comes again,
knocking on my toes,
Pulling my nerves
I pretend
I don't feel it,
I go about finishing off my chores,
pain waits
hiding behind my skin
till I relax to stretch my feet and
when it knows
I can ignore it no more,
squeals a wicked scream
moving closer to me,
wraps me with discomfort,
and I choke,
but keep a straight face,
too proud to admit
that I care.....
Pain pouts at losing
its one more game of oppression.
knocking on my toes,
Pulling my nerves
I pretend
I don't feel it,
I go about finishing off my chores,
pain waits
hiding behind my skin
till I relax to stretch my feet and
when it knows
I can ignore it no more,
squeals a wicked scream
moving closer to me,
wraps me with discomfort,
and I choke,
but keep a straight face,
too proud to admit
that I care.....
Pain pouts at losing
its one more game of oppression.
Friday, June 25, 2010
White Ants
I didn’t know how I could write
about the plight of a woman
whose FD’s got eaten
by bunch of white ants
She hid them away from the family members
burying it deep inside her wooden cupboard
Not checking for years,
smiling secretly about the travels
she would take when the FDs matured
And when the time came,
she looked deep into her cupboard
and found the white dust
Of FDs with numbers chewed away.
Did the white ants know
the value of money written on the paper?
Did they know it fetched a price?
It powdered the serial numbers in row,
chewing away the dreams of that poor woman
Ah! Someone please arrest that bunch of white ant!!
*FD - Fixed deposits
Inpired to write this poem after I read THIS
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Destiny
A picture posted on the Writer's forum for me to be inspired and write a poem
The photo from the Quatrain City Contest this week was taken at Downtown Disney in Orlando, Florida by Jack Huber
My poem on this picture was
Was this the destiny or you chose to mold into stone?
Hearts that could not hold the moments of love
Crept under the sands of time, and now you stare
Hoping to re-ignite, so that once again you learn to care
Winning entry by Diane Stephenson
Phantasmagoria
In nightmarish dreams, with swollen tongue
I choke on words I cannot speak.
Demented faces swirl but can’t come close
once I awaken from this phantasmagoric world.
And runner-up: Khurshid Alam
Blessing Ceaselessly
Worship to the gods studded in the linoleum.
The sacred murals bless you: they stand guard
against all evils in life and light your ways;
the third eye awakens you to think beyond.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Dad, whom I never knew
At three, you walk away from my life
Abandoned, I leaned on uncles and cousins
Never learning the father’s love
You were not there to see me grow and bloom
They say that dads help in times of gloom
I looked for you in my momma’s love
How I wish you had cared for your health, then
And lived the life with utmost care
I too would have learnt of father’s love
And known what it is to be a papa’s girl.
(c) Pushpee
Abandoned, I leaned on uncles and cousins
Never learning the father’s love
You were not there to see me grow and bloom
They say that dads help in times of gloom
I looked for you in my momma’s love
How I wish you had cared for your health, then
And lived the life with utmost care
I too would have learnt of father’s love
And known what it is to be a papa’s girl.
(c) Pushpee
Friday, June 11, 2010
I am not a Bhopali
I am not a Bhopali
No, not just yet
At 25cents I cannot be that
Deformed body, fractured nose
Crumpled feature with an overdose
of chemical churned out with a flair
using unproven technology
what do you care?
you have nothing worthwhile
with me to share
No, not just yet
At 25cents I cannot be that
Deformed body, fractured nose
Crumpled feature with an overdose
of chemical churned out with a flair
using unproven technology
what do you care?
you have nothing worthwhile
with me to share
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Security Hazards
Security was the important code
Neither knife nor bullet under her coat“Nope” they said “We want no risk,
Just bones and skin, march brisk and frisk”
Said they would deliver at her place
Her dowry packed with ‘Hail Mary’ grace
Just chastity belt below her waist
She could follow the nude who ran in haste
She looked at old, young, pale skinned sight
All toddle in line, left, right, left, right
She couldn’t board the flight that night
Was much too bashful, that Indian bride
Monday, May 24, 2010
Gargogyle Notes
Photo Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber- All rights reserved.
Quatrain City Poetry Contest #5
Stirring the souls from ether zones
They parted the clouds to peep into the earth
From heaven, and tangoed to gargoyle notes.
Winning enteries:
Winner: Mari Laura Skjelvik
Moving Forward
Sweltering encompassed by stillness and daze,
directions of bewildered mind and soul,
healing as the wind sounding like freedom's trumpets,
moving forward, I pack my bag and leave town.
Runner-up: Diane Tegarden
Reveille
The city’s guardians' trumpets call
beleaguered inhabitants to guard her walls,
though bone weary of the war and strife
each must answer to protect home and family’s life.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Drabble
100 words fiction is called drabble
It was rainy heavily, colder drops, a welcome respite from the heat of the past week. Huddled under the small over-crowded bus-stand, I was waiting for the rain to let up so I could walk back from work, then suddenly out of nowhere, she came walking towards me and then sat down on the ground in front of me, spreading her legs. “Help! I can’t bear anymore” she screamed. “Move back, move back” said an older woman. But Alas! It was too late! Loud shrills filled the air, curiosity discovered the rage. One more street child was born that day.
The first few lines are the prompts at :http://www.yourstruly-theatre.com/ctspage.htm and the creative ending was written by me…..
It was rainy heavily, colder drops, a welcome respite from the heat of the past week. Huddled under the small over-crowded bus-stand, I was waiting for the rain to let up so I could walk back from work, then suddenly out of nowhere, she came walking towards me and then sat down on the ground in front of me, spreading her legs. “Help! I can’t bear anymore” she screamed. “Move back, move back” said an older woman. But Alas! It was too late! Loud shrills filled the air, curiosity discovered the rage. One more street child was born that day.
The first few lines are the prompts at :http://www.yourstruly-theatre.com/ctspage.htm and the creative ending was written by me…..
Poetry
Poetry for me, is an expression of feelings
that reponds to the outer stimulii
Exploding the dam of thoughts
That comes out gurgling out of my dreams
Its an instant gratification of self
With words that wear lazy wings
And flutter all around my world
Bringing joy as they begin to sing
Word by word they emerge
On the ramp of verse, they wink
Dressed in jackets of metaphors
Surprise me with their tricks
Poetry for you is the food for thought
For me, a dessert with drinks
(c) Pushpee
that reponds to the outer stimulii
Exploding the dam of thoughts
That comes out gurgling out of my dreams
Its an instant gratification of self
With words that wear lazy wings
And flutter all around my world
Bringing joy as they begin to sing
Word by word they emerge
On the ramp of verse, they wink
Dressed in jackets of metaphors
Surprise me with their tricks
Poetry for you is the food for thought
For me, a dessert with drinks
(c) Pushpee
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Fibonacci poetry
Loud
Noise
Around
Deafening!
Disturbs the silence
Limits concentration of mind
Kindly could you return my solitude back to me?
(c)Pushpee
The Fib, or Fibonacci poetry, is based upon a numerical sequence that begins with 0 and 1, and each subsequent number in the sequence is the sum of the previous two. Thus, the first few members of the list are 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 and so on. For example, to figure the next number in the sequence after 5, you would add 5 and the previous number, 3, to get 8. Then, 8 and 5 is the next number, 13.
Poets throughout history have utilized interesting sequences in their poetic forms, and for centuries they have used the Fibonacci sequence as a guide for haiku-like poems. The numeric values typically represent either the number of syllables or words and usually is limited to just the first six members of the sequence beginning with 1. Most Fibs, however, are just six lines and utilize syllable counts, in the succession 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 . Like most syllable-based formats, there are no rhyme or meter requirements
source: http://www.jackhuber.com/
Noise
Around
Deafening!
Disturbs the silence
Limits concentration of mind
Kindly could you return my solitude back to me?
(c)Pushpee
The Fib, or Fibonacci poetry, is based upon a numerical sequence that begins with 0 and 1, and each subsequent number in the sequence is the sum of the previous two. Thus, the first few members of the list are 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89 and so on. For example, to figure the next number in the sequence after 5, you would add 5 and the previous number, 3, to get 8. Then, 8 and 5 is the next number, 13.
Poets throughout history have utilized interesting sequences in their poetic forms, and for centuries they have used the Fibonacci sequence as a guide for haiku-like poems. The numeric values typically represent either the number of syllables or words and usually is limited to just the first six members of the sequence beginning with 1. Most Fibs, however, are just six lines and utilize syllable counts, in the succession 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 . Like most syllable-based formats, there are no rhyme or meter requirements
source: http://www.jackhuber.com/
Party Invitation
My niece is celebrating her tenth wedding anniversery in Goa and she wanted to invite everybody, I wrote for her the poem to go with her invitation:
Ten years of bliss, you shouldn't give a miss
dancing on Goa sands with some musical bands
hope our family and friends
with gather togather for tenth aniversery bells
and spend some time in harmony
to celebrate a lovely cermony
are you a game??
sent in your name
cause we are looking
before hotel booking
If you are able to come
It will be so much fun
I promise we will dance and play
and drink wine throughout the day
Ten years of bliss, you shouldn't give a miss
dancing on Goa sands with some musical bands
hope our family and friends
with gather togather for tenth aniversery bells
and spend some time in harmony
to celebrate a lovely cermony
are you a game??
sent in your name
cause we are looking
before hotel booking
If you are able to come
It will be so much fun
I promise we will dance and play
and drink wine throughout the day
Monday, May 10, 2010
Frozen to Stillness
On one of the forums at Ryze, they are having regular poetry contest every fortnight which will be on till thankgiving day 2010, whereby they put up a picture and we have to write a quatrain inspired by the picture.
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme. I attempted this first time and I won. Above is the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it
Frozen to stillness, watched city walk by,
heart blooms hearing laughter under the blue sky.
Come, let’s join them through this alley, we must
break off this stoned life to release our lust.
My poem is also found HERE
Runner-up: Ayoub Bangroo
Myth of Life
Myth of life eludes me
years passed, but could not yet own;
can`t now understand what I see,
am I alive, or carved in stone?
It feels good to be appreciated. Don't you think so....???
Photo Copyright © 2010 by Jack Huber- All rights reserved.
A quatrain is a four-line poem and may or may not rhyme. I attempted this first time and I won. Above is the picture that they posted and my quatrain on it
Frozen to stillness, watched city walk by,
heart blooms hearing laughter under the blue sky.
Come, let’s join them through this alley, we must
break off this stoned life to release our lust.
My poem is also found HERE
Runner-up: Ayoub Bangroo
Myth of Life
Myth of life eludes me
years passed, but could not yet own;
can`t now understand what I see,
am I alive, or carved in stone?
It feels good to be appreciated. Don't you think so....???
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Solitude
Its one of those days when u wish to talk to nobody, when even the bright sunlight seems dim, when u wish to be left alone, its on those days when u introspect and weigh each moments and come out stronger, when awakened from ur daze
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Copy, churn, reproduce, share or imitate....knowledge is for sharing....But, do acknowledge me, or better still.... send me a copy....... @Pushpa Moorjani